Forgiveness
by allthingsdecent
Summary: After the events of Moving On, House doesn't believe he's worthy of love anymore. But he just might be saved by an unlikely source.
1. Chapter 1

"Dr. Wilson, do you have a minute?"

Ally Elliot, the OR nurse, was standing in the doorway to his office, her hands shoved deeply in her pockets.

Wilson wasn't surprised to see her. She and House had been quietly dating for 4 months—he figured it was just a matter of time before she, like all women in House's life, sought him out for advice.

"Sure," he said, gesturing for his chair. "What's on your mind, Ally?"

She sat down, folded and then unfolded her legs, in a fidgety sort of way.

Ally wasn't really House's normal type—which is to say, she wasn't a glamorous, raven-haired beauty. She was skinny— scrawny almost. Her hair was light brown and usually looked like it badly needed to be combed. In fact, she was always just slightly askew—with a button in the wrong loop or a run in her tights. It was actually kind of endearing.

"I wanted to talk to you about Greg," she said, biting a nail. "You guys are pretty good friends, right?"

Wilson smiled at the understatement.

"I guess you could say that," he said.

"I'm just trying to figure out what he's so . . . afraid of," she said.

"Afraid?"

"Well, you know he and I have been. . ._together_these last few months."

"I had heard something along those lines."

"But he puts up these walls. He won't come for dinner, he won't stay the night, he wouldn't even dream of meeting my son."

Ally had a 10-year-old boy named Isaac. Wilson had heard that he was some sort of genius, had won a Young Inventor's prize at a national competition.

"And you think this is because he's afraid of something."

"Well, yeah. Something is obviously holding him back. He told me he was never getting involved again."

"You should take him at his word, Ally."

"Why?"

"Because House doesn't lie. He says what he means."

"No, I mean, why won't he ever get involved again? I like him. I'm pretty sure he likes me. . .I just don't get it."

Wilson sighed, frowned a bit.

He remembered the first time he realized that Ally was into House. He and House had been sitting in the hospital cafeteria—by some miracle, House was actually eating his own food off his own plate that day—when she had materialized beside their table, slightly flushed.

"That was just amazing what you did in the OR today, Dr. House," she said.

"Thanks," House said.

"I never would've seen that ventricular abnormality—you just see things that nobody else sees. You make these connections."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," House cracked.

"Just once, I'd just like to take your brain out for a test drive, you know?" Ally said. "Just to know how it feels. . ."

House gave her a curious look.

"Maybe we can work out some sort of time share," he said.

Ally laughed.

"I'd like that," she said flirtatiously.

Then she backed away from the table. "I'll let you two finish your lunch," she said. "See you around the OR, Dr. House—I hope."

And she scampered off.

Wilson beamed at House.

"What?" House said irritably.

"Someone's got a crush," said Wilson, watching her walk away.

"Let's not get carried away," House said.

"Oh House, you're sooo amazing!" Wilson said, in an imitation of Ally's breathless voice. "Your brain is soooo big and dreamy!"

"Shut up, Wilson."

"She's cute, huh?"

"I suppose," House said, skeptically. "In a stray beagle sort of way."

"You should ask her out." Wilson was trying to make his voice sound casual. It was the first time he and House had even broached the topic of romance in over three years.

"I know! I'll take her to the hospital mixer!" House said sarcastically.

"I'm serious, House. She's cute, she obviously likes you. Man can not live by hooker and Internet porn alone."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," House said.

"All I'm saying is, it's about time that you considered dating again, House. If not Ally, somebody else."

"Because that worked out so well for me last time," House muttered.

In the end, it wasn't House who asked out Ally, but Ally who asked out House—repeatedly, until he finally agreed to have a drink with her after work. Then, at least as House told it, she basically followed him home and took off all her clothing in his entranceway. They'd been sleeping together ever since.

And, of course, now she was attached and he was being a total dick.

"Did House ever talk to you about his last relationship?" Wilson said. "With Dr. Cuddy?"

"He told me he got dumped," Ally said.

"And?"

"And when I asked what happened he said, 'I didn't deserve her.'"

Wilson sighed. Poor House.

"And do you know anything else?" he said, cautiously.

"Only from gossip around the hospital. That he flew into some sort of jealous rage, right? Drove his car into her house?"

"Something like that," Wilson said. "And yet you still want to get serious with him?"

"We all make mistakes," Ally shrugged. "It's not like I'm some sort of choir girl."

In the coming weeks, Wilson would learn a little bit more about Ally's life: She had run away from home when she was 16, and got in with a pretty rough crowd. There had been drugs, even a minor arrest for disturbing the peace and vandalism (she got off with some community service). She got clean, moved back home, got her GED, went to nursing school, met a doctor, whom she married and had Isaac with. She discovered her husband one night, screwing another nurse in an exam room. Eventually, she found out that he was notorious for fooling around with all the nurses. Humiliated, she packed up Isaac and moved to Princeton.

"Everyone has their heart broken," she said now. "It's part of being human. You cry, you write bad poetry, you . . . crash a car into a house. You do whatever it takes to get over it."

"Well, he's not over it."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't usually let people in, in case you hadn't noticed."

"He let you in."

"Right. It takes a lot, but once he lets you in . . . Put it to you this way, House is like one of those animals who mates for life. . ."

"So he can mate again," Ally said hopefully.

"I don't know. He got burned pretty badly, Ally. He feels like he failed at the two most important relationships of his life."

"Two?"

"Cuddy and her daughter, Rachel."

Ally scratched her head. She didn't know that Cuddy had a daughter. So Greg _could_ love a child.

"How old?"

"Almost 7 now."

"And Greg isn't in touch with her anymore?"

"He hasn't talked to Rachel or her mother in over three years."

"I guess the whole car-in-dining-room thing kind of killed any shot at reconciliation," she said.

"You could say that."

"That sucks," Ally said, with genuine sympathy.

"Yeah," Wilson agreed.

Ally looked down at her hands.

"But, I mean, welcome to the human race, right?"

#######

This was how it went: They went to his place—never hers. Sometimes they grabbed a drink or a burger at a little dive near his apartment. Sometimes they drank scotch on his couch. Some nights, he played piano for her. Or they listened to blues on his perfectly calibrated sound system (if she ever wanted to stay in his company, she could ask about that damn stereo—he never tired of discussing its sub-woofers and audio spectrum analyzers). They played cards. They had sex.

There was no point in Ally trying to stay the night, even on nights when Isaac was having a sleepover at a friend's house. After sex, he got cold, aloof. His body actually tensed up—he acted like he couldn't wait for her to leave.

But he was hers: She took a small measure of pride in that. He was the most brilliant, exciting, unknowable man in the whole hospital and he had chosen her—okay, she had chosen him, but he had at least _allowed_ himself to be chosen—and he liked her enough to let her stick around.

She wished she could be the kind of woman who was happy with what she had—companionship, a front row seat to his genius, and pretty fucking great sex, if she did say so herself—but she found herself craving more.

She wanted to have lunch with him at work, but that was a no-no. She wanted him to meet her son, who needed to know that there were other restless, inquisitive, beautiful minds out there, but that was totally out of the question. She wanted him to hold her after sex, tell her she was beautiful—just once. The closest he'd ever come to that was when he asked her if she was using a new shampoo.

"It smells nice," he had said. (And like the lovestruck fool she was, she had practically floated home that night.)

But because she was an eternal optimist, Ally was strangely heartened by her conversation with Wilson. House was capable of love. All-consuming, romantic, passionate love—the kind every woman craved.

The question was: Could he ever love _her_?

#####

A few nights after her conversation with Wilson, Ally was in a familiar position—getting dressed while House half watched her, half flipped through a magazine, from his bed.

He was shirtless, but he was wearing his jeans, with the top snap undone.

"Goodnight," she said, leaning down, kissing him on the cheek.

"I had fun," he said, breezily, like they had just played a nice game of checkers.

She lingered, awkwardly, by his bedside.

"Greg?" she said.

"Yes Ally?"

"What are you doing this weekend?"

"That's a loaded question," he said.

"No. Really it isn't. It's a pretty standard one," she said.

He sighed.

"Why?"

"I thought you might want to come over for lunch on Saturday. Help Isaac with this science fair project he's working on."

He looked at her.

"Ally, don't do this," he said.

"Do what?"

"You know what."

"What? Ask you over for lunch? Ask the man I've been having sex with for four months to see my house? Meet my son?"

House closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

"I told you I didn't want a relationship. I told you I wasn't going to get involved. You knew the terms."

"I know you did. It's just that I thought that. . ."

"That what?"

"That you were going to change your mind," she admitted.

He looked at her.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "It's not you, it's me."

"Great," she said, staring down, kicking the toe of her cowboy boot into his hardwood floor. "That's just fucking great."

"I understand if you don't want to come back," he said evenly.

"That's not what I want," she said. Her lower lip was beginning to tremble. "I just wish. . . things could be different."

"They can't."

"Why not Greg? Because you got your heart broken? Join the club! Because you fucked up and did something you regret? I could fill volumes with my regrets."

"Because I can't," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I have no business being in your life, or Isaac's life, or anyone else's life. Trust me."

"Why Greg? Why?"

He folded his arms, weighed whether or not to tell the truth.

"Because I'm fucked up, Ally," he said. "I'm a monster."

She looked at him, shocked.

"No you're not."

"Yeah, I am."

"You're just saying that as an excuse to keep me and my son at arm's length."

"Really?" he snarled. For the first time, there was real anger in his voice. "Ask Lisa Cuddy if I'm a monster. Ask her if I deserve to be loved. She'll tell you the truth."

"Maybe I will," she barked. She stormed out of the room in a huff and clomped into the hallway.

"Ally?" she heard him say.

"Yes?" she said hopefully.

"That was a very dramatic exit but I don't think you're going to get very far. You forgot your keys."

#####

Lisa Cuddy was in her home office at about 10 pm on a Tuesday night, answering some emails, when the phone rang.

It was an unfamiliar number, but she recognized the area code as New Jersey.

She picked up.

"Hello?" she said.

"Is this Dr. Lisa Cuddy?"

"It is. Who's this?'

"You don't know me. My name is Ally Elliot. I'm a friend of . ..Greg House."

Cuddy felt a chill run through her body. She had been dreading a phone call like this for three years. So he had overdosed, or hurt himself somehow, or crashed his bike—he was dead. She inhaled sharply.

"Yes?"

"I realize this is somewhat unusual, but I really wanted to pick your brain about Greg. I was hoping maybe we could get together to talk. I'm happy to drive to Westchester."

"Wait. What?" Cuddy was confused. "So he's okay? He's not dead?"

"Dead? No, he's very much alive. . ."

"Oh, thank God." Cuddy exhaled. Then she furrowed her brow. "Wait. _Why_ are you calling me again?"

"Like I said, I'm a friend of Greg's and I. . .need some insight into his behavior."

"Insight? What?" And then it dawned on her. "You're seeing him," she said.

"Only in the loosest sense of that phrase," Ally admitted.

"Listen. . ..what did you say your name was again?"

"Ally."

"Listen Ally, I'm sure you're a lovely person, but you are very misguided here. I haven't seen House in over 3 years. And the last time I saw him, well, suffice it to say, things ended very badly between us."

"I know. That's what I wanted to talk about—if you would just let me come see you. We could meet for lunch somewhere near Westchester General. You're the Dean there now, right?"

Cuddy bit on a pencil that was on her desk.

"Yes," she said.

"Just lunch. Just one time. I need your help. And Greg needs your help, too. He's just too blind to realize it."

And maybe it was the relief over House not being dead, or maybe it was the slight edge of desperation in this woman's voice, or maybe it was just curiosity—ill-advised, unshakable curiosity—but Cuddy found herself saying yes.

"Is tomorrow good?" she asked.

"Tomorrow is perfect. I have the afternoon off," Ally said.

Cuddy gave her directions to a little diner around the corner from the hospital and they said goodnight.

Cuddy stared at the phone for a long time, finally trudged into the bedroom.

"Who was that?" her husband asked. He was grading papers on the bed.

"Nobody, Leonard," she said. "Just someone from work."

"Oh," he said. He waved a student's paper in the air.

"Listen to this," he said, reading. "'The bureaucracy in Kafka's The Castle is like the bureaucracy of the university: Unknowable forces, supposedly acting in your best interest, but secretly trying to sabotage your free will.'"

He laughed. "Pretty good, huh?"

Cuddy kissed the top of his head.

"Genius."

"Hey, he's only a freshman," Leonard said, smiling. He wrote an A at the top of the page and moved onto the next paper.

######

She was older than she sounded on the phone. Probably her mid 30s.

She was wearing a peasant blouse, jeans, and cowboy boots, and her bangs were overgrown in a somewhat unflattering way. She had a little bit of lipstick smeared on her lips, but besides that, she wore no makeup.

Cuddy, by contrast, was wearing one of her impeccable powersuits. Her hair was perfect, her makeup was perfect, her fingers were freshly manicured. She was, as ever, a knockout.

"You're so. . . pretty," Ally said when she sat down.

"So are you," Cuddy said. Upon closer look it was true. The girl was just in desperate need of a makeover.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate your meeting me like this," Ally said.

"Not at all," Cuddy said.

The waitress came over and they ordered: Grilled cheese with tomato for Ally; a Cobb salad for Cuddy.

"So what's going on with House?" Cuddy asked after they ordered, figuring there was no point in beating around the bush.

"He's scared," said Ally.

"Scared of what?"

"Getting in another relationship."

"With you?"

"Yeah, with me."

"Aren't you already in a relationship with him?"

"We're sleeping together."

Ally had a bluntness about her that Cuddy appreciated. She hated wishy washy people.

"Oh."

"We've been together for four months. But he hasn't been to my place, hasn't met my son."

"You have a son?"

"Isaac. He's 10."

"My daughter Rachel is 6."

"I know."

"House . . .talks about her?"

"No, Dr. Wilson told me about her. All Greg said is that he has no business being around a child."

Cuddy had a brief flash of House showing Rachel how to build a pillow fort—it had devolved into a pillow fight and a Rachel fit of giggles.

"Actually, he was good with her," she said, lost for a moment in the memory.

"I'm sure he was."

Cuddy snapped out of it, looked up.

"I still don't know what you want from me."

"I want you to forgive him," Ally said.

"_Forgive _him?"

"Yes. So he can forgive himself."

"And you think if I forgive him, give him some sort of amnesty, that he's going to magically want to get involved with you?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Ally, it took House and me 20 years to finally get together. Four months is a drop in a bucket. I laugh at the impatience of four months."

"I have all the patience in the world," Ally said. "But you haven't seen him."

"So what?"

"He hates himself."

"House loves himself far too much to hate himself," Cuddy said knowingly.

"No. He doesn't. Maybe he used to be like that. But not anymore. He told me he was a monster."

"A monster?"

"His exact words: 'Ask Lisa Cuddy if I'm a monster. Ask her if I deserve to be loved'. . .I don't think he meant it literally, and yet . . . here I am."

"Wow," Cuddy said. She suddenly felt a little dizzy.

"Do you think he's a monster?" Ally asked.

"No, of course not."

"Do you hate him?"

Cuddy considered that for a second. She had loved him for 20 years and hated him for three. But, in truth, she had never really hated him at all.

"I could never hate House," she said finally.

"Then tell him."

"I don't owe him anything."

"I know you don't. I'm just asking you to think about it. That's all. He needs closure. So he can move on with his life. Who knows? It might end up being good for you, too."

######

Cuddy was totally distracted the next few days at work, thinking about Ally's visit.

Of course, she had thought about House a lot these past three years. Once her initial fury had abated—and it had been blinding, all-consuming—she worried about him. (House in prison? Would he be safe? How would he manage his pain? Would his stubborn bravado get him in trouble? She could barely wrap her mind around it.)

She often reflected on the what she had said to Wilson a few days after she dumped House: "I can't fix his problem. I _am_ his problem."

This made her feel sorry for House, despite herself. She and Wilson had always been his primary anchors. Without her, he was bound to be adrift. _Only you would worry about the mental state of a man who nearly killed you_, she scolded herself. But she couldn't help it.

Still, she'd managed to move on. Met Leonard, who taught English at nearby Sarah Lawrence, at a book reading. In many ways, Leonard was the opposite of House: He had an enthusiasm for life, an unshakable optimism. He loved his students and they loved him—some of the female students loved him a little too much, but Cuddy didn't worry. He was as loyal as a Golden Retriever.

Leonard had a wide group of friends, from all walks of life. (Despite his own intellectual gifts, he was no snob: One of his best friends owned a small barbershop, where Leonard sometimes hung out in the afternoons when he wasn't teaching, having lively arguments about the frontcourt of the New York Knicks.) He adored Rachel and she adored him right back. (Rachel had stopped asking about House some time ago; kids moved on, they were resilient that way.)

But when Leonard proposed, Cuddy was alarmed at how quickly her thoughts turned to House. How would he handle the news? Should she tell him herself? She actually picked up the phone once, even went so far as to dial his number. Then she hung up. Called Wilson instead.

"You should tell House I'm getting married so he doesn't hear it from anyone else," she said. "Be gentle."

So Wilson steeled himself, wandered up to House's office and told him the news.

"Good for her," House said.

Wilson offered to buy House a drink, hang out with him, go bowling—anything so he wouldn't be have to be alone—but House, predictably, had deflected and said he was fine. The next morning, however, his team found him passed out in his office, a drained bottle of scotch on his desk, still wearing the clothing from the day before.

Of course, when Cuddy wasn't worrying about House, she missed him, too. She missed the sexy, knowing way he would look at her, the chills she felt when he touched her, the excitement of matching wits with him every day. She loved Leonard, but it was nothing like the way she felt about House. House was the love of her life, she knew that. But that didn't mean she couldn't have other loves, too.

She was weighing whether or not to call him, to do as Ally said and release him from his burden of guilt, when the decision was practically made for her.

She received a brochure for an upcoming medical convention in Cleveland. There was a panel on diagnostics with a star panelist—Dr. Gregory House.

"Is this for real?" she asked Wilson on the phone.

"As far as I know, yes," Wilson said.

"How'd Foreman pull this off?"

"He gave House a month off clinic duty. And promised to install a Wii in his office."

"The more things change. . ." she chuckled.

"The more they stay the same," he said back. "Especially when it comes to Gregory House."

There was a small silence.

"So. . .you going?" Wilson asked.

"Ticket's already booked," Cuddy said.

"What's your plan for avoiding him?"

"I think maybe it's time I stopped avoiding him."

"You sure about that?"

"Of course not, Wilson. I'm not sure about anything."


	2. Chapter 2

They were on different tracks at the conference—she was in an administrative track, he was in a hide-in-his-room-as-much-as-possible track—so she didn't see him until the final night.

He was in the hotel lounge, predictably enough, alone at the end of the bar, nursing a scotch.

It was surreal to see him—so totally familiar and yet so weirdly foreign. He looked good, she decided— his hair was shorter, thinning a bit in the back, and he was wearing a dark gray shirt, actually tucked into khakis. (A practice he had picked up in prison? She didn't know that House even owned a belt.)

She didn't want to sneak attack him, but couldn't figure out any other way.

So she strode right up to him.

"Come here often?" she joked.

He looked up, totally blanched.

"Cuddy," he said. His voice had a raspy quality, like he was having a hard time finding his breath.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he said. He kept staring at her.

"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the stool next to him.

He nodded mutely.

"I . . .I didn't know you'd be here," he said.

"Surprise," she said, ironically.

She sat down, ordered a glass of pinot grigio, finally took him in up close: He looked older, but still handsome; a few more lines in his face; a little sadder around the eyes, but then again, he'd always had sad eyes

"You look good, House. For an old man."

He chuckled.

"Not everyone can drink from the fountain of youth like you do," he said.

She smiled, flattered.

He blinked at her.

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm 16 and I don't know how to talk to the pretty girl at the party?" he said.

"It's still just me, House," she said.

"I've been dreaming of this moment for three years," he admitted. "I knew precisely what I was going to say. It was going to be very eloquent, very persuasive, possibly profound. And now. . ."

"You can't think of any of it," she said.

He gave a kind of defeated smile.

"Exactly."

"I know the feeling."

"Can I start with that most basic of phrases? I'm sorry," he said.

"I know you are," she said.

But she couldn't bring herself to say the words: _I forgive you._

"What I did that night. . .it was the biggest regret of my miserable life . . . And that's saying a hell of a lot."

"I know House."

"No, I don't think you do," he said.

She looked down. It was clear she didn't want to talk about it.

He sighed.

"How's Rachel?" he asked finally.

"She's great. Starting first grade next fall."

"Got any recent pictures?"

House was literally the last person on earth she ever expected to ask to see a picture of Rachel.

She pulled out her iPhone. Scrolled through the pictures, hastily skipping past a picture of her and Leonard on a hike and another one of Leonard and Rachel sticking out their tongues in the snow.

She landed on one of Rachel, wearing a pink helmet, on her new bicycle with the pink flames on it, looking fierce.

He looked at it for a long time. She wasn't sure, but she could've sworn his eyes welled up for a second.

"Thanks," he said, handing her back her phone.

There was another long pause.

"I think about you guys all the time," he said quietly.

She nodded.

"Me too, House."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Of course, you moron. Of course."

"But you're . . . married. You have this great new life."

"So what? I don't have amnesia. I still remember you, us, our life together."

"The life that I fucked up," he said.

"It takes two to fuck up a relationship," she said.

House smiled sadly, raised his glass in a mock toast.

"To fucking up relationships," he said.

They clinked.

"So how's married life treating you?" he asked.

"Good," she said. "Leonard is great. He's goofy, he's cheerful, he sings in the shower. You'd positively hate him."

"Oh believe me, I already do," House said.

"Behave," she said, playfully slapping him.

He smiled, scratched his head.

"And how is Ally?" she asked.

He looked at her. "Ally? What do you know about her?"

"More than you think: She came to see me."

"What?"

His mind flashed to what he had said a few weeks ago: _Ask Lisa Cuddy if I'm a monster_. Jesus, she hadn't take him literally, had she?

"Yeah, she wanted to talk about you."

"Cuddy, I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have done that. I had no idea. . ."

"It was fine, House. I like her. She has spunk."

He put his head in his hands.

"Tell me a little about her," Cuddy said.

House shrugged.

"There's not much to say," he said.

But he told Cuddy about Ally: About her running away, about her history with hard drugs, how she got clean, got married and betrayed, about how she packed up her Jeep and moved to Jersey to start over.

"So she's a survivor," Cuddy said thoughtfully. "Just like you."

"I hadn't thought of it that way."

"And she adores you."

"I know," House replied.

"And what are your feelings about her?" Cuddy asked.

House looked at her: "That she's not you."

#######

Eventually, they turned to other topics: Cuddy's life at her new hospital, House's time in prison, the neverending saga of Wilson's love life.

They had three years of catching up to do, but more than that, they had a very small window of time to drink each other in, to suck as much bone from the marrow of their encounter as they could—because they both knew it was fleeting.

And perhaps this was why they didn't notice that the bar was clearing out, that it was getting very late, that chairs were being put on tables, that last call had come and gone.

"Sorry folks, I'm closing up," the bartender said.

They looked up. The bar was empty. It was 2 am.

"Shit," House said.

They reluctantly stood.

"So I guess this is . . . goodbye," House said. He looked like he was facing a death sentence.

"I suppose we could. . .go back to my room for one more drink," Cuddy offered, wrinkling her nose.

House's face lit up.

"That's a great idea."

"Just to talk, House."

"Of course. What else?"

#######

The hospital hadn't sprung for a suite, so there was, awkwardly, no place for them to sit except for the bed. They ended up leaning against the headboard, side by side.

Cuddy was telling House more about her visit from Ally.

"Ally told me she has patiently been waiting 4 months for you to commit to her," she said, chuckling. "I said, 'Honey, 4 months? Try 20 years!'"

"We did dance around each other for a long time," House said, smiling at the memory.

"Dance? It was more like a slow torturous crawl."

"A very hot slow torturous crawl."

"Yeah," she said, biting her lip. Then she added, "You know the first time I knew we were going to be together? I mean, not just flirty hostility together, but really together together? That night I lost Joy, when you came to my house and kissed me. It was so tender and passionate and . . . unexpected."

"Surprised myself, too," House said. "I was acting on pure impulse."

"It was a good impulse."

"Yeah. . .but you've got your history wrong, woman. That's not when I knew were going to be together. It was when you wanted me to sperminate you."

She shot him a look.

"What?"

"When you were going through in vitro. And you came up to my office that night. . .you were obviously going to ask for a sample—the old fashioned way, no doubt—and you chickened out."

"You're so full of yourself, House," she said, smiling because they both knew he was right.

"Hey, I call it like I see it."

"Well, what about you? You were monitoring my menstrual cycles! That was downright creepy, House."

"I can't help the fact that I'm highly observant."

She snorted.

"Ha," she said. "You borderline stalked me. Remember my blind date that you barged in on? Twice? And what about your obsession with that donor's son I danced with?"

"If I couldn't have you, I wanted to make sure nobody else could," he admitted.

She yawned, reflexively nestled her head on his shoulder.

"You could've had me. . . if you had just asked nicely."

"Asking nicely isn't one of my strongpoints," he said, putting his arm around her.

"No," she said sleepily. "But you can be very nice sometimes. Very, very . . .nice."

Her eyes began to flutter.

"If I could do it all again, I'd be so much nicer," he said, looking at her.

"Yeah," she said, shutting her eyes.

In minutes, she was asleep, breathing easily on his shoulder.

He stared at her for a long time. He wanted to stay awake—he would watch her sleep all night if he could—but he was tired, too. Eventually, despite himself, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

In the morning, they had shifted down onto the bed, both fully dressed, their arms wrapped around each other.

Cuddy woke first. She looked right at him and—on impulse—gave him a soft kiss on the mouth.

His eyes opened.

"I have to go," she whispered. "I have a 10 am flight into LaGuardia."

_No, no, no, no, no_, he thought.

But what he said was: "I'll get out of your hair." And popped up.

"It was nice to . . . reminisce," she said, starting to hastily throw things into her luggage. She was already late.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Let's. . .try to stay in better touch," she said.

"Definitely," he said, but they both knew that they wouldn't.

He made his way to the door.

"House?"

"Yeah Cuddy?"

"I just want you to know that I . . .forgive you."

#######

Two weeks after he got home from Cleveland, House hacked into the hospital's human resources computer, got an address, and drove his bike to a house on the outskirts of town.

He stood in front of the house for a long time: It was a modest, white-shingled bungalow, with a faded lawn and a Jeep Wrangler parked out front. There were two bicycles (one adult sized, one for a kid) leaning against the garage, and two pairs of sneakers, an old beach towel, and a deflated soccer ball on the porch.

He paused at the door for a long time before he knocked.

A little boy answered. He had light brown hair that fell into his eyes and wire-rimmed glasses.

"Who are you?" the boy said.

"I'm House," House said. "Who are you?"

"I'm Isaac."

"Nice to meet you, Isaac."

"Is that your motorcycle?" Isaac said, peering onto the street.

"Yeah," House said.

The boy nodded, approvingly. Then he ran back into the house.

"Mom! There's a man with a Honda CBR 1000 here!"

Ally came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

When she saw House, her mouth dropped open.

"Greg," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood," House said, with a shrug. "Just thought I'd stop by."

"I'm . . .so glad you did."

She beamed at him. She was trying not to look overly excited, but failing miserably.

"I was just making lunch," she said finally. "Peanut butter and jelly. You want one?"

"Sure," House said.

"With the crusts cut off," Isaac demanded.

"I know, Isaac. With the crusts cut off," Ally said tolerantly. "Greg, you want your crusts?"

"No thanks," House said.

Ally went back to the kitchen to finish making the sandwiches.

House spied a robot looking contraption in the middle of the livingroom.

"Is that your science project?"

"Yeah," Isaac said.

House limped over to it. It was a transformer creature, a dragon/monster hybrid of some sort.

"Does it move?"

"Yeah," Isaac said. "Watch this."

He pressed a button and the creature clumsily lurched forward.

"So what powers it? An infrared diode?"

"Yeah, in the eye, see?"

"Cool," House said. "You know what would be cooler? If it shot lasers out of its mouth."

"That would be cool," Isaac agreed.

"Want me to show you how to do that?"

"You can do that?" Isaac said, his eyes widening. He pushed some hair off his forehead.

"It's not that hard really," House said.

And he and the boy knelt beside the project together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Almost two years ago, I wrote Forgiveness, my one fic (out of 133, mind you!) where House and Cuddy don't end up together. I happen to think it was a poignant story and a Huddy love story to boot, but a certain someone (whose name rhymes with Rocktober) felt otherwise. She told me it was my one fic she could never re-read. Anyway, it just so happens that Monday is her birthday (and mine!) so I promised her I'd write Chapter 3 of Forgiveness and give Huddy their happy ending and make the world safe for rainbow-puking unicorns again. **

**You don't have to have read the first two chapters of Forgiveness to follow along here, but it certainly helps. **

**And happy birthday Z. You are literally the only person on the planet I would do this for. Love, atd**

When you have a 7-year-old daughter, you end up in unexpected places. For example, today Cuddy found herself at the New Jersey Civic Center, home of the Tri-State Science Fair.

Rachel had been picked out of all the children in her school to attend. It was House, Cuddy had to admit, who had first gotten Rachel into science. They were always making potions in her room, usually involving carbonated beverages and Mentos (and usually necessitating a vigorous shampooing of the rug afterward). She loved the fact that her little girl was into science. It made her proud. For a brief, a heady moment, Cuddy thought that if Rachel won the Nobel Prize for Science, she would have to thank House in her acceptance speech.

For now, Rachel had made an experiment using paper clips and magnets. There were no prizes for her age level: everyone who participated got a blue ribbon, which Rachel was wielding proudly, like she had just won Best in Show at the County Fair.

And since the junior portion of the fair was over, Cuddy and Rachel decided to take a walk around the center, to check out the projects of the older kids. It was the usual litany of clay volcanoes with lava and experiments involving calcified butterflies, until she came across what appeared to be a fully operational robot.

"Wow," she said to Rachel. "Look at this thing."

"Cool," Rachel said, bending to see it closer.

A woman standing one booth over noticed them and chuckled.

"That's Isaac Elliot's," she said. "He's some sort of boy genius. He wins every year." There was the slightest trace of bitterness in her voice. Her pimply son had apparently been responsible for one of the lame volcanoes.

Then she lowered her voice. "I'm actually surprised he came this year."

"Surprised?" Cuddy said. "Why?"

"His mother died three months ago."

Cuddy brought her hand to her mouth.

"Oh, how horrible," she said.

"Yeah," the woman said. "Some sort of cancer, I think. It's so sad. He's here with his stepfather, I guess. I feel for them both. They look so lost."

"I can imagine," Cuddy said, shaking her head sympathetically.

"That's them over there," the lady said, pointing to a table that had been set up with cookies and plastic cups of fruit juice.

Cuddy looked over—and did a doubletake.

There was a knobby-kneed boy with long, light brown bangs that fell into his eyes and wire-rimmed glasses—a mousy-haired Harry Potter. And next to him was a tall lanky man in jeans and an unironed shirt, with several day's growth of beard and a cane. They were both munching on cookies and staring into space.

"Oh my God," Cuddy said. She involuntarily shuddered.

The woman gave her a curious look.

"You know that guy?" she said.

"He's my. . .he's an ex boyfriend of mine," said Cuddy, still staring. "I had no idea he was married."

It suddenly came to her: Ally Elliot. The pretty but plain young nurse who had visited her in Westchester. Cuddy remembered her well—soft-spoken, sweet, but with a streak of defiance, too. She had driven over an hour to meet an intimidating stranger—all to fight for her man. Cuddy recalled her unstylish clothing, her child-like way of picking at her food. But something about Ally Elliot had touched Cuddy—and obviously House, too.

In that moment, Cuddy felt two equally horrible and conflicting pangs.

The first pang was genuine sadness that this poor young woman was dead. The second pang she wasn't completely proud of: She was jealous that House had gotten married. (This was the height of hypocrisy, of course: Cuddy herself had gotten married three years ago. But the heart is rarely reasonable in matters of jealousy.)

She took a deep breath and pointed House out to Rachel.

"Look who's there!" she said, trying to keep her voice cheerful.

Rachel looked over. Her eyes widened.

"Do you remember him?" Cuddy asked.

Rachel nodded.

"Do you want to go say hi?" Cuddy said.

She nodded again.

Cuddy took her daughter's hand and they walked across the center.

As they got closer, she saw House and Isaac more closely. Isaac was wearing a baseball shirt that had a stain on it. His shoes looked worn, possibly too small for his feet. His glasses were smudged. House looked the same as usual, which didn't mean much. He was never particularly good at taking care of himself. His shirt, however, was noticeably missing a button.

"House," she said.

He looked up, practically dropped the cup of juice he was holding.

He gaped at her.

"Cuddy," he managed to choke out.

"Hi House!" Rachel said brightly.

House looked down at her, blinked a few times, like he was waking from a dream.

"Hiya kid," he said. "Look at you. You're all grown up."

"No, I'm still just a little girl!" Rachel countered.

House gave a small smile.

"You'll make an excellent scientist," he said.

Then he realized that Isaac was standing there, munching on a cookie, regarding them curiously.

"Isaac, this is Dr. Cuddy and her daughter Rachel. They're old . . .friends of mine."

Isaac didn't say anything. Just kept on eating his cookie—crumbs were getting on the floor—and staring at them.

Any other father figure—if that's what House really was—would've scolded him, told him to mind his manners and say hi. But House didn't do that. Instead he said to Cuddy: "What are you guys even doing here?"

"Rachel won the first grade science prize. And as a reward, I get to schlep her here for the day."

"I worked with magnets!" Rachel said. "One of my magnets weighs 10 pounds!"

"Cool," House said.

Just then, a teenager with a camera around his neck approached them.

"We're about to take a group photo of all the participants," he said.

"Oh," Cuddy said. "Should we follow you?"

"Just the kids," the boy said, in a "don't be an overbearing mother" sort of voice .

"I'll look after her," Isaac said, taking Rachel's hand. And they followed the photographer toward the other side of the center.

"He's a sweet kid," Cuddy said, when they were out of earshot.

"Yeah," House said, scratching his chin.

"And I saw his robot. Incredible."

"It was supposed to talk, but things, uh, came up."

"House, I heard about Ally. I'm so sorry."

House fiddled with his cane.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"What happened?"

"Stage four breast cancer. It was a brief and painful death."

"Oh God," Cuddy said. "I don't know what to say. It's just so unspeakably horrible." Then she added cautiously: "And you two were. . . married?"

House recoiled a bit.

"What? No! We were dating. We weren't even technically living together."

Cuddy felt ridiculous for being a relieved.

"Then why do you have the boy?" she said.

House shrugged.

"I dunno. His grandparents in Pittsburgh were supposed to take him, but he ran away. Took the bus back to my place. So I guess he's . . . mine now."

"And you're still in your old apartment?"

"Yeah. It gets a little crowded sometimes. But we're doing okay."

"Wow, House. That's a lot to handle."

"I don't really have much choice," House said.

"I guess not."

"How bout you? How's Leonard?"

Cuddy felt her face grow hot.

"We're. . he's . . . we're separated, actually."

"Oh," House said. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Cuddy couldn't help but giving a tiny smile.

"Liar!" she teased.

He smiled back, sheepishly, in a "busted" kind of way.

"I figured 'I'm elated to hear that' was an inappropriate response," he admitted.

Cuddy laughed.

They exchanged a look—after all these years, they still "got" each other.

"Isaac and I were going to pick up a pepperoni pizza on the way home. . ." House said, trying to keep his voice casual. "Maybe you guys want to join us for dinner? Unless you need to get back to Westchester or something."

She had to admit that the thought of House buying pepperoni pizza, taking care of this 12 year old boy—this messy, misfit, brilliant 12-year-old boy—broke her heart a little bit.

"We're in no rush," Cuddy admitted. "Pizza actually sounds pretty good."

######

It had been a year since House and Cuddy had stayed up all night in a hotel room in Cleveland, talking, reminiscing, and letting each other go.

From there, their lives had taken two radically different paths.

For House, that night was a release of sorts—it gave him the ability to finally move on to his life with Ally. He was never going to truly love Ally. He was fond of her, there was even some genuine affection there. But if Cuddy believed he was deserving of forgiveness, of some small measure of happiness, why not take what he could get?

For Cuddy, it represented the exact opposite: The end of her marriage to Leonard. She had told Leonard about the night in Cleveland, never expecting him to react the way he did—with insane, unprecedented jealousy.

"This guy was the love of your life, wasn't he?" Leonard had accused.

"Yes, I loved him a lot," Cuddy admitted. "But he hurt me a lot, too."

"I know," Leonard said. "You told me. But he was the one, right? I'm never going to be that guy for you."

"Leonard, you're my husband."

"That's just paperwork," he had said.

####

House's apartment had been invaded by the detritus of a 12-year-old boy: Dirty socks, a skateboard, a Playstation console, the parts of Isaac's latest science experiment scattered across the living room floor.

There had been a time when House's apartment—with its leather couches and stacks of vintage jazz records—had represented the height of masculine sophistication to her. Now it looked like the home of a harried single dad.

"Be it ever so humble," House said.

House set the table and they ate their pizza, neither Isaac nor House ate the crusts.

"People who say the crust is the best part are lying," House said, eyeing Isaac conspiratorially. "Why not just eat bread then?"

Looking down at his plate, Isaac gave a small smile of agreement.

Cuddy tried to draw some conversation out of the boy, but he was shy, reticent. She had to cut him a break, though: his world had just been turned upside down.

After dinner, Isaac said to Rachel, "You wanna come see this remote control Triceratops I'm working on?"

"Yeah!" Rachel said, turning to Cuddy hopefully.

"Knock yourself out," Cuddy said.

And Rachel followed Isaac into his "room" (actually House's small office space, that had now been converted into a bedroom.)

"He's good with her," Cuddy said.

"Yeah," House said. "He's a good kid." Then, in a slightly melancholy voice he said, "I can't believe how big Rachel's gotten. She's like this little _person_ now. I feel like I could ask her to do my taxes."

"I know," Cuddy said. "The other day she told me that I was being 'narrow-minded,' because I wouldn't put marshmallow fluff on her peanut butter."

"Ha. You were being narrow-minded. That shit is delicious."

And they smiled at each other.

"It's good that she's pretty," House mused, as he refilled Cuddy's wine glass. "It would suck to not be pretty when your mom is such a beauty."

Cuddy blushed a bit.

"People are always saying how much she looks like me," she laughed. "I don't have the heart to tell them she's adopted."

"You might want to keep your voice down," House said. "The walls aren't as solid as they look."

"She knows," Cuddy said. "I told her as soon as she was old enough to understand it. I never wanted it to be this secret—this thing that hovered over us, you know? I just told her her real mother had died and that I had adopted her and that I couldn't imagine loving anyone more than I love her, and she seemed satisfied with that."

"Smart move."

"Thank you," Cuddy said. Then, unable to resist, she wrinkled her nose: "So the walls aren't soundproof, huh? How unfortunate."

"Apparently we gave my neighbors quite the thrill a few years back," House said, with a slightly proud smile.

They looked at each other—that little flash of intimacy and familiarity again—and then both looked down.

"So what happened with Leonard?" House said, taking a swig of his wine.

"We, uh, drifted apart," Cuddy said.

"'None of your business House' would've been equally acceptable," House said.

"If you must know, he couldn't get over his jealousy."

"Jealousy over what?"

She sighed a bit.

"Actually, you."

"_Me?_ The guy who rammed his car into your dining room and you didn't talk to for three years?"

"He figured out that you were the love of my life," Cuddy said.

He blinked at her.

"Cuddy. . ." he said. "I feel the. . ."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said, cutting him off.

He swallowed.

"Okay. Then we won't talk about it," he said. He opened his mouth, as if about to say something else, then changed his mind. "More wine?"

Just at that moment, Isaac and Rachel came barreling out of his room together.

"How was the stegosaurus?" Cuddy asked.

"Triceratops, mom," Rachel said, rolling her eyes a bit.

"Oh, my bad. How was it?"

"Cool," Rachel said. Then, in that slightly cutesy voice she put on when she really wanted something: "Mom, can Isaac and House come with us to the zoo this weekend?"

"I'm . . . I'm not sure. . ."

"_Pleeeeease_!"

Cuddy looked at House.

"You want to come with us?" she asked skeptically.

"Let me check with the boss," House said. "What do you say, Isaac?"

Isaac shrugged wordlessly.

"He's elated," House said. "What time should we pick you up?"

#####

They walked around the zoo together—Rachel and House both got cotton candy (hers pink; his blue); Isaac moped with his head down and his hands shoved deeply in his pockets.

"Do you mind if I go check out the rain forest?" Isaac said to House, finally.

"Sure," House said.

Cuddy watched him sprint away.

"You sure he'll be okay on his own?" she said. "How is he even going to find us later?"

The look on House's face suggested it hadn't even occurred to him that Isaac might not be able to make his way back.

"He's resourceful," he said. "Worst case scenario, we can embarrass the shit out of him with one of those, 'We have a little lost boy' announcements."

They continued to stroll through the zoo. House kept making Rachel laugh by doing his impression of the animals. "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful," he said, when they passed the warthogs. "I've had a crick in my neck for 15 years," he said at the giraffe cages. He offered Cuddy some of his cotton candy and grinned happily when she took a bite. "I get a strange thrill out of watching you eat junk food," he admitted.

"You just like being a bad influence on me," she said.

"True," he said.

Eventually, Isaac did find his way back to them ("I figured you'd end up at the petting zoo," he explained with a shrug, as House smiled knowingly.) His brief adventure on his own had done him some good and he was cheerier. Besides, he couldn't resist showing off his knowledge of zoology to Rachel, who was dutifully impressed.

"Did you know that a bat could eat up to 1,000 insects per hour?" he said.

"Ewww! Gross!" Rachel said, laughing. She liked gross things.

"That's nothing. Did you know that the male koala has two penises and the female koala has two vaginas?"

"Okay, that's enough, Steve Irwin," House said, eyeing Cuddy to see if she was upset.

"I think it's cool!" Rachel said.

"Imagine the possibilities," Cuddy said dryly. And House gazed at her adoringly.

In the car ride home, Rachel tried to repeat House's jokes.

"Guess what a giraffe says?" she asked Isaac.

"What?" he said.

"I'm a cricket!"

"Not quite, Rach," House said. "But excellent attempt."

"That makes no sense," Isaac said.

Eventually, both children fell asleep in the backseat and House drove silently and the radio was playing a Willie Nelson tune and to the outside world, they looked every inch the weary family driving home from an outing at the zoo.

######

She told herself that she was spending time with him because he was hopeless, a man who didn't have the foggiest idea how to raise a 12-year-old boy. She brushed off the fact that she was as attracted to him as ever—maybe more so. So what if she lay in bed fantasizing about Gregory House, not her soon-to-be ex-husband? So what if she imagined his hands all over her, his body pressed against hers? That was just a fantasy. In real life, they were just friends—former lovers, now just a couple of single parents, leaning on each other for support.

At least that's what she told herself.

######

They went bowling together. They went to a farmer's market. They went to the New Jersey Planetarium.

One night, Cuddy showed up with Rachel and three bags of groceries. (She had said she was cooking dinner. She had neglected to mention that she was also bringing some essentials—eggs, orange juice, bananas, Corn Flakes, yogurt, and granola bars—for House's woefully understocked kitchen.)

"You didn't have to do that," he said, grabbing one of the bags.

"Actually, I kinda did," she said.

They put away the groceries together and she made something relatively simple—turkey tettrazini—that both House and Rachel liked. ("Does Isaac like turkey tettrazini?" Cuddy had asked House. "Isaac likes everything," he replied.)

But instead of eating, Isaac just sat there, twirling the spaghetti around on his fork.

"You don't like it?" Cuddy said, noticing him.

He shrugged.

"I'm not hungry," he said.

"You're always hungry," House countered.

"Not tonight," he said.

"Eat it," House ordered.

Cuddy peered at him.

"If you like, I could make you something else?" she said, gamely.

"I'm not hungry, alright? Back off!" Isaac said, raising his voice.

"Hey, Isaac," House said sternly. "Apologize."

"She's not my mother, alright?" Isaac said angrily.

"No one said she is, pal," House said.

Isaac stood up from the table so abruptly, his Coke spilled. "She can't fucking make me eat!" he screamed.

And he stormed off to his bedroom.

House's mouth dropped open. He stared at the chair that Isaac had just occupied and then limped quickly into the kitchen to get a sponge and paper towels to clean up the mess.

"I'm …sorry," he kept saying, wiping up the spill. "I have no idea why he just did that. He doesn't talk that way."

"It's okay, House," Cuddy said. Then she turned to Rachel: "Isaac's mom died a few months ago. He's still very upset. That's why he used that bad word."

"Because sometimes people act mad when they're really sad?" Rachel said.

"Exactly," Cuddy said.

"I'll go get him," House said. "I'll make him apologize to you."

"No," Cuddy said. "It's okay, just leave him be. Let's have dessert."

Afterwards, House walked them to their car.

"Great evening, huh?" he said sarcastically. "We're like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life."

"House, it was fine. Things happen," she said.

"So Isaac didn't scare you off?" he said, hopefully. "You'll come back?'

"Of course we will."

Just then, Rachel gave a big, open-mouthed yawn.

"Okay, I gotta take this little one home," Cuddy said. "It's getting late."

She gave House a hug.

"Hang in there," she said. He held onto her for a long time—too long—before finally letting go.

"Hanging in there is what I do," he said.

As she pulled away from the curb, she could see him standing there, his shoulders slumped, watching her drive away.

######

House knocked on Isaac's door. He didn't answer. House opened the door anyway.

Isaac was on the bed, wearing a hoodie, listening to music through his headphones. The room was dark, except for a dim light emanating off his iPhone.

"Hey," House said.

Isaac yanked off his headphones.

"Am I in trouble?" he said.

"No," House said.

"Good." He put the headphones back on again, but House yanked them back off.

"But we still need to talk. . ." he said.

"Great," Isaac muttered.

"What was that all about?"

"I wasn't hungry," Isaac said.

"Try harder."

Isaac folded his arms.

"What's the deal with Dr. Cuddy? Is she your new girlfriend or something?"

"You've got your chronology wrong, pal," House said. "Old girlfriend. Now we're just . . . friends."

"But you're still in love with her," Isaac said, pointedly.

"My feelings for Dr. Cuddy have nothing to do with this conversation," House said.

"You love her more than you loved mom," Isaac said. His lower lip was beginning to tremble.

"I cared about your mom a lot, Isaac," House said.

"But you never loved her. Not the way you love Dr. Cuddy."

"Your mom . . ."—House smiled in a wistful sort of way—". . . your mom was amazing. She knew all about Dr. Cuddy. She didn't care. She wanted to be with me—and she wouldn't take no for an answer."

"So mom didn't care that you loved another woman more than you loved her?"

"Your mom was smart enough to know that love takes all different forms. We had an understanding, Isaac."

"Well, your understanding sucks," Isaac said.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. But you're still not allowed to be a little shithead to my friends."

Isaac looked down at the blanket.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Isaac, I know this is hard for you. Believe me, it's hard for me, too. I have no damn clue what I'm doing here."

"You're doing okay," Isaac said, still looking down. A fat tear dripped down his cheek.

House put a hand on Isaac's bony little shoulder and squeezed it.

"Thanks," he said. "You're doing okay, too."

Then House cocked his head a bit. "You wanna eat? And don't even tell me you're not hungry right now, because I spent enough time on hunger strikes in my room to know that they suck."

"I am kinda hungry," Isaac admitted.

"PBJ? Crusts cut off?"

"Or maybe more of that turkey stuff?" Isaac said. "It was actually kinda good."

#####

A week later, Cuddy came over again, this time without Rachel, who was spending the night at Aunt Julia's.

Isaac answered the door.

"Hey," he said shyly, shuffling his feet.

"Hey," Cuddy said. Then she handed him a wrapped gift. "I hope you don't mind, I got you this."

He stared at the gift, in shock.

"What it is?"

"It's customary to open the gift to find out," Cuddy chuckled.

House, who was about to come out of the kitchen (his turkey chili was simmering), instead hung back and watched the scene play out.

Isaac opened the gift, reluctantly, like it was possibly a trap.

His face lit up when he saw what it was. "Laser theater! It turns your whole room into an epic laser show! I've been wanting this for months. How did you know?"

"I went onto your Amazon wish list," Cuddy said, making an exaggerated guilty face. "Is that too stalkerish?"

"Naw, my mom used to do that all the time," he said.

"I met her once you know," Cuddy said. "I liked her a lot."

"Yeah?" he said.

"Yeah. And she was pretty too. You look like her. Well, not pretty. A boy version."

"Thanks," Isaac said, pleased.

"Chili's on in 10 minutes," House said, emerging from the kitchen.

"Hi," Cuddy said.

"Hi back," House said—and he gave her a stealth smile of approval.

"Can I eat in my room?" Isaac said. "I want to set this thing up!"

Cuddy looked over at House. He nodded.

"Only if you promise us a light show after dinner," she said.

####

Several hours later, House walked Cuddy to her car. The street was dark and empty.

"You were amazing in there," he said to her.

She smiled.

"I like him," she said. "Apparently, I have a thing for moody geniuses."

Another look coursed between them. Cuddy looked down.

"I should . . . go," she said hastily.

"Okay," he said glumly.

"I'll see you soon?" she said.

She gave him a hug, as had become their custom, but this time, he didn't let go. He nuzzled her neck for a few seconds, then kissed it, his mouth slightly open, his tongue warm against her skin.

She felt that little tingle she always felt when things got physical between them. (It was like her body was specifically calibrated to vibrate when he touched her.)

She inhaled the tiniest bit, which he took as his cue to find her jaw, her cheek, her mouth—and now he was really kissing her, pushing her up against the car, his tongue deep in her mouth, his hands insistently wandering her clothed form.

"Cuddy. . ." he moaned.

"House, we can't," she said, unconvincingly.

"Why not?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Because Isaac is just inside," Cuddy said.

"He can't see us," House said. "No one can see us."

With one hand behind her back, he had managed to deftly open the back seat of the car. Now his hands were slowly riding up her legs, hiking up her skirt, sliding between her thighs. Her knees buckled a bit. The desire was almost overwhelming. All she would have to do is climb in the backseat with him, block out the world, finally have him inside her. Then she caught herself.

"House, no!" she said, jumping away from the door.

"Come on, Cuddy" he said, out of breath. "Don't do this."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I do want you, House. More than you know. And that's exactly why we can't be together."

"_What?_"

His hands dropped lamely to his side. He looked at her, stunned.

"Your girlfriend died five months ago. I haven't even signed the divorce papers on my marriage. We're both raising children. There's so much complicated history between us. We can't just jump back into a relationship. It's insane."

"Says who?"

"Says any reasonable human being," Cuddy said.

"Reason is overrated," House said, leaning down to kiss her again.

She put her hand on his chest to stop him.

"I'm serious. Look, I've got to stop coming around like this. It's confusing for the children. It's confusing for me. And it's obviously confusing for you."

"I'm not confused," House said, stubbornly.

"House, I'm sorry," she said. "Truly."

And got in her car and drove away.

#######

Cuddy kept her word and stayed away. It was hard, nearly impossible. Several times she picked up the phone to call him, just to check on him, see how he was holding up, but she didn't even do that. She convinced herself a clean break was best for all parties involved.

About a month after her imposed embargo, her assistant Charles buzzed her.

"I have someone on the phone for you," he said, adding quizzically: "He sounds like a kid."

Cuddy sat up at her desk.

"Put him through," she said. Then: "Isaac?"

"Dr. Cuddy? It's Isaac."

"I know, sweetie. Are you okay? Is it House? Is anything wrong?"

Isaac cleared his throat.

"I'm, uh, calling to apologize," he said. "I know you haven't been coming around lately. And I know it's all my fault. I can be a real shithead sometimes . . .and I'm sorry."

"Did House put you up to this call?" she asked skeptically.

"No. He has no idea I'm calling," Isaac said.

Cuddy sighed.

"Isaac, the fact that I don't come around anymore has nothing to do with you. I think you're great."

"Then . . . what is it?"

"It's grownup stuff. I can't really explain."

"Oh," Isaac said. "Because Greg misses you. He misses you a lot. He was so much happier when you and Rachel were coming around. And . . .I was, too."

Cuddy put her head in her hands. She felt like she was going to cry.

"I miss you guys, too."

She heard him gulp over the phone.

"I just wanted to make sure it wasn't something I did. Because if this was somehow my fault, I'd feel like total dogshit."

"It's not you, Isaac. It's me."

####

That night, there was a knock at House's door.

He turned to Isaac.

"What did you do?"

"I ordered pizza," Isaac said.

"What did I tell you about ordering pizza without asking first?" House said, scoldingly.

Isaac shrugged.

"Too late now. It's here."

"I'll get my wallet," House said. "But this is totally coming out of your allowance."

"I don't get an allowance."

"And now you never will."

He limped up to the door, swung it open.

And there, standing in the doorway, was Lisa Cuddy, wielding a large pizza box. Rachel was standing next to her, looking like she was about to burst.

"Did someone order a large pepperoni pizza?" Cuddy said. And Rachel giggled.

"I did!" Isaac said cheerfully.

"I got salad, too," Cuddy said. "No pizza unless you eat some salad first."

"Salad sucks," Isaac said.

"Boo on salad!" Rachel agreed.

"You'll learn to love it," Cuddy said.

Then she turned to House, who was frozen in place, his mouth hanging open. She looped one of her fingers with his and led him toward the dining room.

"Come on, House. Don't just stand there. Help me set the table."

THE END


End file.
